


Yonder Heart and Somber Lover

by overratedantihero



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, New Teen Titans, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Greek Gods, Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone, Bruce is Demeter, Dick is Persephone, Everyone has a counterpart, Forced Marriage, I can clarify more if y'all want but y'all will have to ask, M/M, Slade is Hades, Stockholm Syndrome, There is NO Rape In This, This is Literally A Retelling of Hades of Persephone, Will Tag As Characters Appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15214712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Dick's taken from his father's garden to join Slade in Hades, the realm of the dead. A retelling of the Abduction of Persephone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inevitable. 
> 
> Also! Please feel free to suggest tags or request world building info/correlations. I'm a huge Classics nerd and it's lowkey killing me to make some of these concessions, but this seemed too fun an idea.
> 
> (Also! I have a tumblr now: https://overratedantihero.tumblr.com/)

When Dick woke, he was no longer in the lush, sweet scented sanctuary of Bruce’s garden. Instead, he was laid out on a massive four poster bed, covered with a heavy fur with dubious origins. Dick turned and scrambled to his knees, facing the expansive headboard—which was, from end to end, crammed with precious metals and stones. Dick reached out and drug his fingertips over the bevels and curves of the stones. The frame and columns of the bed weren’t wood as his bed was at home—these looked to be crafted of some dark rock, like obsidian.

Dick suddenly felt exposed, dressed in his rumpled chiton in a strange bed that bore more wealth than he’d seen in all his immortal lifetime. Then again, he’d rarely been allowed to even traverse the halls of Olympus, confined as he was to Bruce’s estate. And Bruce’s riches seemed… pale in comparison to this.

But where was this?

Dick wracked his brain, trying to piece together whatever had befallen him. The last he could recall, he was in Bruce’s garden alongside Jason and Helena. Then he’d seen… Dick’s bronze cheeks flushed. He’d seen something shiny. He’d seen a glimmer in the field, and he wandered away to go look at it. And when he had found the source, he’d plucked it from the ground. And a groan had sounded, reverberating in Dick’s very core, as the earth opened into a deep chasm. Dick had scrambled back from the edge, but from within the chasm a chariot emerged. Manic black horses had reared above him and Dick had only blinked up at their guide, a man (a _god_ ) dressed in a burnt orange chlamys draped over a black chiton with a gold encrusted black patch over one eye. Dick had recognized him, but only from paintings of the Titan War and the hushed conversations of his father and uncles.

Slade, Giver of Wealth. Slade, King of Hades.

In his stupor, Dick had scarcely struggled as the god scooped him into his arms. The cries of his family had filtered through his numbed senses, and then the chasm had swallowed the chariot, Slade, and Dick himself into its depths. The last voice Dick had heard was that of his captor, who had leaned close to rumble, “You’re mine, kid”

Dick rummaged around in the bed for a moment, in the hopes that he may find it. That the instrument of his untoward circumstances may still be with him. Sure enough, he did, shoved up under a pillow. A singular, rounded opal.  

 Bruce was going to kill him. For wandering away over a rock, for seizing into a stupor, for not fighting back.

It wasn’t that Dick had never encountered a god of such caliber - Bruce was one. Clark, Diana, Helena, Jason. They were _Olympians_. But Slade wasn’t _real_. He existed in gossip and in history tombs, and he ruled over Hades. What was the land of the dead to a deathless, fledgling god such as Dick?

Dick looked around himself. He took in the obsidian walls, the arrays of fur on the ground and piled on the bed. He swallowed at the sheer amount of stones and gems encrusting everything in sight (the walls, the sparse furniture, the nearly ceiling high door that loomed across the room.) There was nothing alive in this room. No plants, no greenery. There was no sun; the only light emanated unnaturally from amber suspended from the ceiling. Above, everywhere Dick walked flora sprung from his step. But when he wiggled to the side of the bed and placed a single, bare foot on the ground, there was nothing. Dick scrambled back into the middle of the bed and tugged a fur around himself. There he hunkered for what felt like only minutes before he heard a groan, like the one that sounded before the chasm appeared. The heavy door swung open and _he_ stepped in. Even without the height of the chariot, he was tall, and he was draped in cloth so fine that it did not so much as whisper as he approached the bed. Gem studded rings adorned each finger and thick necklaces of gold and silver hung from his neck, some gripping tightly around the column of his throat, and others cascading down his torso.

“Hello, little one,” Slade’s voice rumbled at a timbre that could shake the ground on which he walked. Everything about him screamed power, and what was Dick but a minor god of spring? This was a god who had killed Titans, who ruled over the souls of the dead with a stern, iron fist. So afraid were the mortals of Slade that they would rather call him by a moniker, Deathstroke, than utter his name.

Dick clutched the opal so tightly that his palm bruised.

* * *

 

“Clark!” Bruce roared, storming the halls of Olympus with Jason and Helena scrambling to match his pace. Fury seemed so out of place amid the crystal walls, awash with the peaches and pinks that announced Koriand’r’s return from her day’s work, but nevertheless Bruce’s shouts shook the chandeliers. “Clark! How _dare_ you!”

There was a gust of wind and a flash of red, and then Barry stood before them, blocking their path forward. Barry tipped his kettle hat to each god. “The King and Queen are celebrating our abundance in the feasting hall. I am happy to take you there—but please, Bruce, allow me to announce you. You’ll put a herald out of business, yelling your entry as you are.”

Bruce clenched his jaw. “Slade has taken my son, speedster. Excuse my lack of decorum. Grief is tricky to contain, you understand.”

Barry frowned. “Then let’s make haste.” But he paused to add, “I assure you, there is not a god in Olympus who would see Dick harmed.”

“I pray that be the case,” Bruce spat through clenched teeth making it clear that he did not, even for a moment, believe that to be true. To Barry’s credit, he did not push further, and he instead sped ahead of the trio to announce Bruce’s presence to Clark and Diana, who were indeed lounging in the feasting hall, alongside a smattering of other gods.

“Bruce!” Clark cried jovially, opening his arms in welcome when Bruce entered the hall. Clark’s grin incited Bruce, and Bruce wasted no time in striding across the hall and gripping a fistful of Clark’s chlamys in his fist.

“What have you done, Clark?” Bruce growled. The hall fell silent. Diana stood, hand on her lasso, but Jason lightly touched her elbow and whispered in her ear. Diana dropped her hand and turned to Clark.

“Clark!” She admonished, furrowing her brows. “Clark, tell me you didn’t.”

Clark sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “Slade fought by us in the war.”

“That does not excuse—” Bruce began, but Diana held out a hand.

“Let him speak, Bruce,” she murmured, voice low and commanding.

“And then he conceded to ruling the earth, far from the graces of Olympus, to do the unsavory tasks that the rest of us would not and cannot. He may receive the same respect from the mortals that we do, but he is burdened by their fear rather than their love, which we enjoy sometimes to excess. All of this, and yet he does not ask. He lives in what is essentially exile, and yet he has never come to me for any favor nor recompense. Until recently.” Clark paused. The gods in the room were frozen, expressions questioning and wary. Bracing himself, Clark finished, “He asked for Dick’s hand, and I granted him this small concession.”

Immediately, the room exploded in uproar.

“You didn’t!” Kara cried out.

“Oh no,” Pamela frowned. “The Green—”

“You’ve condemned him! He’s a child of spring, and you’ve condemned him to that sunless realm!” Dinah shouted, standing and beating a fist against the table.

“You act as if he is languishing, but he swims in wealth,” Bruce bellowed, louder than the rest. “He may not take from you, but he takes his plenty from the mortals! He does not refrain from asking because of his deference or his selflessness, he does so because there’s nothing you can give that he can’t just take!”

Clark waited. He made no move to stem the uproar and he did not defend himself. When, finally, the cries died down, he stood. The room fell silent.

“As the father of gods and men, it is my right to grant marriage requests. I will not recant my blessing to Slade.”

“Then you will regret it,” Bruce spat. He turned on his heels and stormed from the chamber. Once again, Jason and Helena followed. Once they were a distance away, Jason cleared his throat.

“And how exactly do you plan on making the King regret anything?” Jason challenged.

“Dick—what if it’s too late?” Helena fretted. “What if he’s eaten—”

“He hasn’t,” Bruce interrupted her. He stopped abruptly, and Jason ran into him. “Dick knows better than to eat the fruit of Hades, I taught him that much. As for your question, Jason, I may have limited political power in the assembly of the gods, but I’m not without power. You, god of conflict, are about to receive your fill.”

Jason blinked and then grinned. “Go on then, Bruce. Do what you must. Fetch us our spring Robin.”

* * *

 

Dick broke from his reverie and scrambled back, pressing himself against the headboard and watching Slade warily. Slade swept forward anyway and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

“Are you afraid, little bird?” Slade asked, seemingly bemused at his own question. Dick narrowed his eyes and willed his shoulders to relax.

“No,” He spat. “Bruce has told me about you. I don’t fear blood-thirsty recluses.”

Slade cocked an eyebrow. “You should not speak so ill of your brother, Jason. War gods have feelings too.”

Dick blinked and then sputtered and then crossed his arms and then he threw up his arms and said, “You know that’s not what I meant!”

Perhaps Slade’s chuckling should offend him, but Dick was too busy pouting to be offended. And then Slade leaned over to brush back a lock of Dick’s hair back and Dick froze.

“Enough of your brother,” Slade murmured. “I came for you, not him. And I’ve been promised you. Do you know what that means?”

Dick swallowed hard. “No. No, Bruce wouldn’t—”

“Bruce didn’t,” Slade murmured, tracing a knuckle down Dick’s cheek. “It was your other father.”

The world began to spin. Dick felt sick as realization bloomed in his chest and sent ice through his golden veins. “No, no, no, no, no,” Dick murmured without even realizing. Not until Slade pressed a hand against Dick’s mouth, silencing his pleas.

“Yes,” Slade said, expression brimming with a pity that Dick would have taken for genuine if his father’s warnings did not echo in his head. “But, little bird, why do you think I chose you?” Slade dropped his hand and ran his fingers through Dick’s hair. Dick hadn’t noticed until then, but Slade wasn’t leaning forward anymore, he’d been drifting closer as they spoke.

Unsure of what to say, Dick confessed his running theory, “To anger Bruce. To incite him, or to barter with him.”

That was the wrong answer. At least, Dick thought it was, what with how Slade clucked his tongue and frowned.

“No, little bird. This has nothing to do with your ornery father. It breaks my heart to see you hunker in his shadow when you shine so brightly. And I have an eye for things that glitter, kid.” Slade moved forward on the bed, pressing Dick down into the bedding so that Slade could hover over him. Dick was reminded of the circling birds of prey that would swoop down to snatch up the mice in the fields he used to roam. The first time he’d seen it, he’d run to Bruce in tears. Bruce had only stroked his head and promised him that his divine blood would burn the birds, and that the birds knew better than to touch a deathless one with anything other than reverence. And here was Slade, gazing down at him with what could only be described as reverence. Something stirred in Dick.

“I’m not a thing,” Dick whispered. Slade nodded slowly and smiled. This wasn’t predatory at all it was… approval? Maybe? Dick did not often see Bruce smile like that. Dick dug his fingers in the fur and gripped tight, to ground himself.

“No, of course not,” Slade said. “You’re far more precious than any ‘thing.’ But you are precious, and your potential is _blinding_. I cannot offer you the crystalline halls of Olympus. But I can offer you an iron crown and a throne encrusted with jewels. I can offer you opportunity, to step from the shadow of your father and fulfill your divine inheritance. So, tell me, little god,” Slade leaned forward to brush his lips against the shell of Dick’s ear, “will you be mine?”

Dick squeezed his eyes shut. “No,” he whispered, hoarsely.

Slade hummed and then pulled back. “Then so be it. I will not force you,” Slade said, stepping from the bed and taking his leave. Dick’s head spun.

“Wait!” Dick scrambled up and reached out to Slade. “Wait—does this… will you free me?” Dick wished his voice were steadier, not that it mattered because Slade looked over his shoulder and responded simply, emotionlessly, “No.”

Dick slumped back into the mountain of pillows. “Oh.”

“But,” Slade added, hand on the door, “You have free reign over the grounds. Ask a nymph to guide you, as Hades can be tricky and dangerous. Stay away from the rivers, most of all the River of Styx. Oaths made by her are binding and absolute. Lethe will strip you of your memories, and Pyriphle′gethon will burn you. You may find some comfort in the asphodel—and the pomegranate trees are also worth seeing. Feel free to eat either.”

“You can’t trick me into eating anything down here,” Dick warned. “I know about the fruit of the Underworld.”

Slade grinned. “I would expect nothing less. I will see you soon, Dick, and do try to enjoy yourself. Hades is not the hell that those upstairs would have you believe.”

And with that Dick was left alone, with only the furs and his piece of opal.

 

[Check out my Tumblr!](https://overratedantihero.tumblr.com/)

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick explores Hades, and considers the offer being made.

Left alone to his own devices, Dick suddenly felt very small. Slade said he could explore but leaving the soft furs of the bed felt daunting and besides, Dick’s chiton had been ruined in the descent. The red and yellow dyed fabric was torn and smudged with dirt and his green linen belt had been lost entirely. Dyed as his clothes were with the botanicals of his father’s estate, their loss left Dick feeling untethered to the grassy, sunlit world above.

But unless he wanted to remain trapped, Slade’s captive in this bejeweled room, he needed to find new clothes to wear and venture beyond the imposing door. He could not lay down and succumb to his broadening sorrow, Bruce would not have allowed it. And so, he crawled from the bed and began towards a massive chest at the far end of the room. He did not need to even open the chest as there was fresh linen, folded neatly, waiting for him on top. It was black, blacker than any fabric Dick had seen before, but he wrapped it around himself and it felt just as fine, if not finer, than the cloth to which he was accustomed. There was a deep blue belt and brooches studded with gems of a similar shade as well. He tied the belt around his waist and fastened the brooches to the cloth on his shoulders to secure the fabric into a chiton.

Unsure of where to leave what remained of his previous clothes, he left them folded messily on the ground. He nearly left the room right then, but he paused and looked over his shoulder at the still unopened chest. He wandered back over, cracked the lid with a heave, and lit up when he saw a simple and light stretch of linen resting amid a sea of black and colored cloth. He snatched it up, blue like his belt, and draped it over his chiton to wear as a himation. The extra weight made him feel secure, or as secure as he could be in this strange realm.

Clothed and with purpose, Dick finally crept towards the massive door. He took a steady breath, adjusted his himation, and then pulled the handle, jumping a bit when the seemingly heavy door swung open with little effort. The hallway that stretched before him was dark, lit only with strange fire that glowed purple and hung high, suspended by seemingly nothing.

Dick straightened his shoulders and began walking.

Time was difficult to gauge in the dim, obsidian halls, but Dick was sure he’d managed to walk for hours without finding any sort of passage out. Right when he was ready to slump to the floor and rest his legs, a shadow leapt seemingly from beneath one of the unnatural, fiery sconces and manifested first as a great, black bird and then as a woman, gray skinned and shrouded in a deep blue, floor length cloak that cast a nearly black shadow over the top half of her face. She stepped forward, towards Dick. The movement shifted her cloak to reveal her floor-length chiton, her bright blue eyes, and her earrings, which were gold sunbursts.

“You must be the little god that Slade brought from above,” the woman murmured, her voice vast and delicate all at once. “You’re too pretty a creature for Hades.”

Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “And what does that make you?”

He flushed scarlet, but the woman cracked a soft smile and threw back the hood of her cloak to reveal an angular face, long lashes, and a red gem embedded in her forehead.

“It makes me Raven, the goddess of witchcraft,” Raven said, placing a hand on her hip. “And I believe you are lost. It’s unsafe to wander alone, little one.”

Dick felt like a child. He often felt like a child. As ancient as he was, he was long used to the patronizing chastisements of his father, brothers, uncles, and aunts. His cousins were little better. But here, in this strange land, despite his naivety, he found he had less tolerance than usual.

“Slade gave me license to venture as I please,” Dick asserted, raising his chin. “I doubt he’d go through the labor of fetching me if he were going to endanger me.” Fetching was a polite word for what the King of Hades did, but Dick could not bring himself to admit the breadth of his victimization to this stranger. Dick would not be ruled by his circumstances.

“I guess not,” Raven amended, glancing Dick up and down. “Allow me at least to accompany you. I’ve lived in these halls longer than most, and I imagine a god of the earth such as yourself is curious as to what fields and gardens Hades has to offer?”

Dick opened his mouth to reject the offer but thought quickly to Slade’s ominous warnings and to the twisting passages. “Please,” he acquiesced. “I would appreciate the company, and guidance.”

Raven led Dick outside of the palace walls, and he was quietly grateful for it. However, his gratitude was dashed as soon as they stepped out, into what Dick had naively hoped would be into a sunlit pasture like that of Bruce’s grounds.

Instead, beyond the obsidian walls the sky was a murky green, such as before a storm. Mist hung low and heavy, and the ground was laid with stone. In the distance, a small structure stood stern and foreboding. Even farther, Dick could see a stretch of fields where the mist gathered so close it was nearly opaque, and shadows flickered from its depths.

“There,” Dick pointed at the mist. “I want to go there. Those are fields—I need to touch the dirt.”

Raven followed his gaze. “I’m afraid you’ll find yourself cold and unloved in those fields, little one. Those are the Asphodel Meadows, and they’re occupied by the indifferent dead. There is nothing for you there.”

Dick huffed. “That, what of that building? Who is there?” he asked, gesturing to the much closer structure.

“The Judgement Place. It is a place for the Judges and Slade, not for little gods. You say you desire dirt?”

Dick whipped his head to her, eyes big and eyebrows furrowed. “Do you—do you know of a place? The earth must be fertile somewhere, Slade spoke to me of asphodels and pomegranates. You say I shouldn’t follow the meadows, so what else is there in the land of the dead?”

Raven drew her hood up, once again obscured except for her soft smile. “These are the palace grounds, of course Slade has the trappings of a king. There is an orchard, off to the west. The trees are always overladen, Slade does not always find the time to tend to them himself. Perhaps you can,” Raven spoke as she walked, cloak somehow swirling around her in the windless grounds.

“I have no such interest,” Dick asserted. “I’ll be leaving soon anyways, to go home. Bruce will not leave me here for very long.” The stone beneath his bare feet felt cold, unnatural. How far could it possibly stretch?

“There’s cattle,” Raven offered. “Beautiful, black cattle.”

“There are no cattle more beautiful than Koriand’r’s,” Dick retorted. “There is nothing that Lord Slade has that can compare to the sun-washed ground above.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something to love here,” Raven murmured. “You haven’t even seen his orchard yet. You may be surprised.”

Dick was, in fact, surprised. The orchard was far larger than Dick could have hoped, and black cattle roamed. The trees were heavy with fruit that gleamed nearly as red as the rubies in the palace. But the sky was still murky, the mist still low, and the dirt unresponsive to Dick’s touch.

He allowed himself to sink to the ground, gripping fistfuls of dull grass that did nothing with his warmth. In the distance, he heard the babble of a river and wondered which of the deadly streams it could be.

“Bruce will come for me,” Dick said again. “There is nothing for me here.”

“Stand, boy. You’re to be a king,” a new voice admonished. Dick looked up and watched as a strange man, whose himation was woven with images of feathers, approached. He carried with him a staff, the top of which was carved in the shape of an owl.

Behind Dick, Raven hummed. “Lincoln, the orchardist.” Louder, she asked, “Lincoln, he is young and in mourning. Haven’t you anything better to do than bother him in his rites?”

Lincoln smirked and drove his staff into the ground to lean against it. “Lord Slade has entrusted me to oversee what happens to and within his orchards. I watch over everything among these trees, including the prostrations of small gods who do not yet know the worth of power.”

Dick frowned. “I would trade power to see my siblings again.” Dick thought of his siblings, of Jason and Helena, both of whom held esteemed positions on Mount Olympus. He frowned. “I would,” he assured Lincoln, even though Lincoln did not say anything to the contrary.

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. “That may be, little god. But surely the orchards ease some of your… anguish.”

“He misses the sun, and fresh soil,” Raven interceded, before Dick could indignantly snap at the mouthy orchardist. “I think he finds even your well-kept orchards… pale. In comparison to what he knows.”

“Well,” Lincoln murmured, glancing around and then reaching out to one of the fruit laden branches that sagged within reach. He plucked a pomegranate and offered it to Dick. “Perhaps you will find the taste agreeable with your standards.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “I am young, I am not foolish. Do not threaten me again with bondage to your realm. My father is coming.”

Lincoln pulled the pomegranate close. “It’s folly to reject the gift Lord Slade has to offer you. If it’s the sun you miss, I am sure he would be more than willing to hear your cries. You are to be his groom, after all, and he is not his siblings. It’s rare that he chooses to cast a wandering glance. Ask him for a pasture of your own, I have no doubt he’ll concede.”

Dick opened his mouth to retort that he had a pasture, in the above-ground. But the argument died in his throat because… he didn’t. He had his father’s pasture. His father’s home. His father’s authority. He did not share a throne, he rested at the base of another’s. And that throne could not protect him from being taken.

Lincoln laughed. “Ha! I’ve struck him dumb.”

“I should hope not,” Slade’s rumble was the only announcement Dick received before he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dick looked up, to see Slade crouching by his side. “My talkative orchardist hasn’t bored you, has he?” Slade asked, throwing a sharp glance at Lincoln. Lincoln blanched and for a moment, Dick considered offering a barb about Lincoln. But—he looked at Slade’s scowl and then at the way Lincoln clung to his staff and for the first time in Dick’s very long life he felt the power that came with holding someone else’s fate in his hand. He had no doubt that Slade would heed a complaint about the orchardist, what with Slade’s protective grip on his shoulder and Lincoln’s clenched jaw.

“No,” Dick decided, “he hasn’t. He showed me how beautiful the fruit of your trees are. I did not know you had cattle.”

Lincoln visibly relaxed and Dick felt a rush.

Slade smiled. “There’s much more here, more than you’ve likely heard of from your family. Come, I’m free of my duties for at least a few hours. Let me show you the grounds and beyond. It’s only right you are offered the opportunity to survey your impending kingdom.

I will not be your king, Dick should have said. My father will come, Dick should have said. I will never acclimate to this dreary and cruel realm, Dick should have said.

“Alright,” Dick said. “I would like to see as much as you will show me.”

* * *

 

“Bruce will impede the harvest,” Jason said, leaning against a gleaming white column, “but he humbly requests your aid in his campaign. A grave injustice has been committed, and he wishes to right it with Dick’s safe return.”

Koriand’r hovered before him, her fiery hair whipping about her person as her fury rose. “The Olympians will regret this deal that they have made. Dick is a creature of the earth, and I will ensure he is returned,” she swore. “I will do as Bruce asks. I will scorch the earth, scald the cattle, and hold vigil. And if Dick is harmed….”

Jason shook his head. “Do not suggest another Titan War, Kori. Not even I want to see ichor shed. Least of all yours.”

With an affectionate smile, Koriand’r cupped Jason’s face and pressed a light kiss to the tip of his nose. “I am the sun, and I will sooner see the world burn than see Dick harmed.”

Jason exhaled to suppress his grin. “Then so be it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have to make this four chapters instead of three. I'm getting in deeper than I thought I would.


	3. Chapter 3

Hades was massive.

Unlike Raven, Slade had no qualms with taking Dick to the edges of the rivers, and at least a few paces within the Asphodel Meadows. But no matter how close Dick came to the water, or to the drifting souls in the Meadows, Slade was there, a protective arm hovering near Dick.

“What’s the danger in them?” Dick asked him, after leaving the Meadows. “They’re mortals.”

“It’s best to maintain distance with mortals, all mortals. They’re drawn to power, and they’ll cling to it if they’re able.”

“You mean divinity,” Dick corrected. “They’re drawn to divinity.”

Slade cast him a curious glance. “No, Dick. Power. Some of the souls you’ll encounter here are divine themselves, halfling children of your aunts and uncles. Divinity is easily parsed. Power, however, is scarce. You have power here.” 

It was difficult to tell time in Hades, but Dick found himself growing weary as they walked, and eventually he stumbled.

“You’re tired,” Slade said. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Dick said, before promptly yawning. Slade stopped walking and reached an arm out in front of Dick.

“Let me carry you,” Slade offered. Dick recoiled, but Slade shook his head. “There is still something I would like you to see before we return to the grounds. There is no point in suffering through it.”

After another moment of hesitation, Dick begrudgingly accepted Slade's offer. It was undignified, but he crawled onto Slade’s back, wrapping his legs tightly around Slade’s waist and clinging to his neck. Slade straightened and carried him as if he weighed nothing, and Dick once again grappled with his youth and stature. Bruce certainly did not need help standing. But, then again, Bruce was one of the Twelve.

Dick buried his face in his arm and shelved that thought.

“Little bird?” Slade murmured. Dick stirred. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. When he blearily opened his eyes, they burned, and he flinched from where he was still adhered to Slade's back.

“What--?” he began, forcing his eyes open against a golden wash of light. He gasped and wriggled free from the grip Slade had on his thighs. He scrambled down from Slade’s back and lurched to stand beside Slade instead, all the while glancing about.

There was light, and a sky smeared in pinks and oranges. Grass, green grass, grew tall, with clusters of fruit bearing trees and structures of white marble scattered about. Bronze skinned people milled about, some sparring out amid the orchards, other lounging and playing instruments. There was a winding, crystal river from which a pleasant breeze, the likes of which Dick had not known since descending, tossed Dick’s hair about.

“Is this… did you…?” Dick looked up, unable to find the sun or any source for the land’s peach glow. One of the passersby met his gaze, and Dick’s eyes widened. “Slade, that’s Garth, he’s a son of Arthur. He _died_. Where have you taken me? I don’t see the halls of Olympus, so where?”

“The Elysian Fields. The children of heroes and gods reside here, as do the righteous dead. You’ll find the temperature warm, there to be constant breeze, and even the occasional rainfall,” Slade explained. “You may recognize some of the denizens. And yes, it really is them.”

Dick fell to his knees and dug his fingers into the grass until the tips were buried beneath the moist soil. “And this ground, it’s…?”

“Fertile? Yes.”

“Oh,” Dick breathed, sitting back on his haunches and taking in the scenery for a moment. Garth had paused, glanced at Slade, and then moved on, but others were glancing their way. Some curiously, others with wide-eyed recognition. Dick wanted to rush towards them, to speak to them, to accept their praise (Dick had grown used to praise, from mortals, from Bruce, from his aunts and uncles.) But Slade’s words about mortals and power rang in his ears, even if ‘power’ did not feel right resting on Dick’s shoulders.

“Why show me this place,” Dick finally murmured, “if I should be expected to maintain a distance with mortals?”

“Distance, not isolation. I have no business telling you where you should and should not traverse within your own home. Hades is yours, by marriage. Should you choose, you could begin a grove here. It would be yours alone.”

Dick snapped his head to look up at Slade. Slade looked out to the fields, warding away the curious residents, Dick presumed. When it was clear that Slade would not meet his gaze, Dick glanced down again.

“I couldn’t just stay here,” Dick said, without a question. Slade glanced down at him.

“No. Nor will you want to. You have a kingdom to administer, mortal inclinations for leisure and avoidance don’t suit you.”

Dick hummed. “Between you and the Judges, what is there left for me to do? I will not sit as a trophy, alone in your tower.” Perhaps he had no standing to challenge Slade, but the warmth of the non-sun and the smell of grass left him feeling drunk.

“Of course not,” Slade said. “You will administer justice, same as I. I’m offering you a crown, not a collar. You will never be alone here, Dick. You’ve met Raven and Lincoln, but there are others, and they will love you every bit as much as the mortals love the sun.”

Dick was quiet for a spell. Music drifted from where it was played in the valley before them. As did the sounds of laughter and mirth. The river babbled, and the low rumble of distant thunder promised rainfall. When Dick finally spoke, it was with his eyes cast down and his voice low.

“I love the sun too, Slade,” Dick murmured. “I touch the ground here, and nothing grows. I have no place here.”

Slade snorted. “I understand you and your love, I have heard stories.” Dick flushed, but Slade didn’t pay him any mind. “Nevertheless, the kingdom is still new to you, and you haven’t yet accepted your rights as king. You will surprise yourself, when given the opportunity.”

 “And what if my father comes for me?” Dick shot back.

“You and I both know that’s up to you,” Slade murmured. “But you shouldn’t dwell on what he may or may not do. Nor on what he may want. What do _you_ want, Dick?”

Dick laid down in the grass, staring up ahead at the sky. He could not see Kori from here. Kori did not belong down here, in the land of the dead. Dick thought of Bruce, Jason, and Helena, and of their thrones on Olympus.

“I want to return to your palace. I’m tired,” Dick said, finally.

“As you wish,” Slade said. This time, Dick walked alongside Slade.

Dick was quietly grateful when Slade personally led him through the winding hallways to the bedroom Dick had woken up in, and when they entered, Dick practically threw himself onto the plush bed. Slade watched with a smirk as Dick wiggled underneath the furs, in his chiton and all. But when Slade turned to leave, Dick said, “Wait!”

Slade paused.

“Where do you sleep?” Dick asked before shrinking back into the bedding. Slade raised his eyebrows.

“Here,” he said. “In my bedroom.”

Slade’s answer did not surprise Dick, but Dick nevertheless felt his gut clench. He’d hoped that this room was his own, a sanctuary against this unusual place. He’d hoped Slade wouldn’t leave him alone too. It had been so long since he’d been so alone, no Bruce, no sun, no siblings. Dick felt cold, colder than he could ever remember feeling. “Oh,” Dick said. “Then where are you going?”

Slade snorted. “Out. What do you need, Dick?”

There again. What did he want. What did he need. Dick huffed. He stared up at Slade. Slade stared down at him.

“I don’t know,” Dick finally said, sinking further down, pulling the furs closer to his chin. “Where are you going?” Dick pushed.

Slade cocked his head. “It depends. Do you want me to stay?”

No, Dick thought. “Yes,” Dick decided.

* * *

 

“Bruce!” Clark bellowed, throwing open the door to Bruce’s home, voice echoing in its force. A few seconds after, Barry appeared in a flash beside Clark, panting and bent over. Bruce descended the spiral staircase and stopped halfway down, cocking a brow.

“Sorry, Bruce,” Barry huffed. “I did try. Hades hath no fury like a King scorned,” he said, gesturing to Clark. Bruce blinked.

“No, but Hades does have my son, doesn’t he?” Bruce ground out, voice clipped. Barry cast his eyes down, and Clark stepped forward.

“And does that justify what you’ve done?” Clark snapped. “Bruce, they’re dying. You’ve _killed_ them! You’ve ravaged their crops, scorched their soil so that nothing grows, burnt their animals. When will your rampage end? When there’s nothing left?”

“You’ve assigned too much power to me, Clark,” Bruce murmured. “The sun does as she wishes. I’m a god of earth, and I’ve only done what I promised. Isn’t that what you did? Promised above rational delivery?”

Clark’s chest heaved. Bruce blinked. Barry looked up at the ceiling. Silence, but for the cries of the mortals as their rivers dried and their cattle overheated.

“I will send Barry down. To negotiate. That is all I can promise, Bruce,” Clark finally growled. Bruce raised his eyebrows.

“I hope an acceptable agreement is reached in time,” is all Bruce offered.

“And if one isn’t?” Clark pushed.

“I’m deathless, Clark. I have time to decide.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick makes a choice as tensions escalate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cheating and updating this to fulfill Day 4 of Slade Robin Week: Gods/Goddesses. 
> 
> Also! The story is officially wrapping up and the next chapter will actually be the final chapter this time. No more adding one more chapter at the end of each update :) Thank y'all for reading! Sorry this escaped me a bit and became so drawn out!

Dick woke up to find his head in Slade’s lap. He froze, and peeked up, but Slade was reading something above him. A letter or something of the sort.

While Dick remembered falling asleep next to Slade, he wasn’t sure how he’d drifted practically on top of him. He had half a mind to be bashful or to apologize, but without looking away from the letter, Slade reached down and stroked Dick’s hair as one would a pet.

“I—” Dick began, but Slade looked down and shook his head.

“No need to apologize. Lawfully, I’m your husband. This is appropriate behavior. And you can’t help what you do in the dredges of sleep.”

“Oh,” Dick offered, settled back down. Slade continued to stroke fingers through Dick’s hair, and Dick yawned.

“That being said,” Slade said, hand pausing, regret seeping into his voice. Dick glanced up and then he sat up when he saw that Slade’s eyes were furrowed and his mouth drawn in a tight frown, “we’re needed, the Judges have requested our presence. I had hoped to give you more time to adjust, but unfortunately there’s been… an influx.”

Dread pooled in Dick’s stomach. “An influx?” he asked, as if the answer could be anything different from his presumptions. It was not uncommon for humans to engage in war or to encounter some other calamity, but the brevity of their lives and the pettiness of their behavior never made their loss any less difficult for Dick to fathom. And now that he’d seen the dreary accommodations that many would receive, Dick’s heart hurt all the more.

“Of the dead, yes,” Slade murmured, offering the letter to Dick. Dick took it gingerly. He wasn’t very used to letters; he was accustomed to bright eyed Barry instead. But as he scanned the letter, he began to understand why this particular news needed to be written.

Dick covered his mouth and re-read the ink as if that could rewrite it.

“I know,” Slade murmured quietly. “I know this is difficult.”

“He-he wouldn’t!” Dick hissed, gripping the letter so tight that the parchment crinkled and then tore.

“He did,” Slade murmured. “Your father has starved the humans and forced your brother and Koriand’r to commit heinous acts under his name. As a result, Wallace, our ferry on the river Styx, has been quite busy. We have souls to weigh, Dick, we should make haste.”

Dick wiped at his wet eyes, childlike grief rapidly mutating into fury. “Why would he do this?” Dick snarled. “He knows—He knows the humans rely on us, adore us. Why would he do this to them?”

Slade pulled Dick into a tight embrace and rubbed soothing circles into Dick’s back. “The violence of my siblings is not something I’ve tried to rationalize,” Slade murmured lowly. “It’s part of why I make my residence here, away from their squabbles. It’s part of why they hate me. I do not try to rationalize them or their behavior as good or bad, anymore than I rationalize mine. There is no good or bad. There are choices and there are actions. Some which we do not hesitate to commit, and some which we would not dare to commit. Your father has made his choices, and now we must deal with the results of his actions. Come along, there’s work to be done.”

* * *

 

“Why, Bruce? Why would you do this?” Diana hissed, pacing back and forth in his great hall. “This is senseless violence against throngs of mortals who have no part in any of this!”

“It’s not senseless,” Bruce murmured, deigning not to raise his voice with her as he would with Clark. Coiled around his hand, wrist, and arm, a green backed serpent napped. Bruce gently stroked its broad head as he spoke. “My son was taken. My pleas went unheard. I will do what I must for his return. That was my promise as a father.”

Diana paused, crossed her arms. Her voice was steady but her expression furious. “You coddle him, Bruce. You tried to keep him so closely by your side that his divine inheritance became tied to the earth rather than Olympus, and now the earth has taken him.

“You and Clark share a guilt in this, but the humans do not. This war, that you’ve urged Jason to incite? It has no honor. It has no meaning for the individuals whose blood is shed. It is not ichor spoiling the land, but blood.”

“I do what I must,” Bruce said easily.

“I pray that you will,” Diana said sternly before stalking from his hall.

Once she had left, the serpent lifted its drowsy head and said, in gods’ tongue, “Grayson?”

“Soon, Damian,” Bruce murmured. “I’m working on it. Barry has spoken with Wallace and will be traveling across the river soon. We’ll get your brother back.”

Damian unwound himself from Bruce’s arm, and Bruce lowered himself so that Damian could transition to the marble floor. Damian rose, in the appearance of a boy, before even Bruce did.

“He won’t like what we’ve done,” Damian fretted.

“He won’t know what we’ve done,” Bruce murmured. “Knowing Slade, he has Dick locked away somewhere; Dick won’t see the arriving souls, he’ll be returned before what we’ve done is irreversible, and it will be green again for him.”

“Oh?” Damian murmured, crossing his arms. “You’re relying on a lot of assumption, Father.”

Bruce glanced down at him. “All Slade wants is control, I’m familiar with him and his ways. He will lie to Dick and shield Dick away to keep him ignorant and in Hades. Dick will come home soon.”

* * *

 

The sheer number of individuals filing into and filling the Judgement Place was overwhelming. Even Slade looked a bit taken aback, once he arrived. The three judges, Slade called them Wintergreen, Rose, and Joseph, appeared rather weary for deathless ones.

“If it’s not starvation, it’s heat disease or a petty squabble gone terribly awry,” Rose murmured, rubbing her temples. They’d pulled Slade and Dick into a secluded chamber, as soon as they’d arrived. Outside the bemoans of the dead waxed and waned.  

“The Fates are furious,” Joseph supplied. “Some of these souls were not meant to waste away in the Asphodel Meadows. We’re to sort them based on what has happened, not what should have happened, but the work has been difficult.”

“Death herself has threatened to quit more than once,” Wintergreen mused. “I didn’t realize that was an option. Slade?”

“No,” Slade muttered. “You can’t quit, Wintergreen. Neither can Death. Least of all her.”

Wintergreen leaned down to murmur, “Ex-wife,” in Dick’s ear. Dick smirked and Slade leveled a withering glare at Wintergreen, who straightened with a casual whistle.

“You know, Slade,” Joseph posited, crossing his arms. “You could just return the boy. It would appease Bruce and he’d call off his dogs.”

“Not a boy,” Dick asserted at the same time that Slade countered, “Not an option.”

Joseph sighed. “Return the god of spring and perhaps humanity will persist.”

“He’s unlawfully challenging my claim to Dick, using his own worshippers as expendables. Clark will intervene,” Slade snapped back. Dick opened his mouth, but Slade shook his head. “He’s unlawfully challenging your claim to a throne, Dick. Don’t defend him, and don’t think that sacrificing your crown would undo the havoc he’s wreaked.”

Dick frowned. “You interrupted me before I could speak,” he said, sharply. Four heads turned to look at him. He lifted his chin. “If I have a claim, then I have a right to decide how I approach defending that claim. Bruce decided everything for me, should you decide to do the same then I would rather bondage in sunlight than bondage in Hades.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You certainly have a type, Slade,” Wintergreen offered. “Plucky.”

Dick took no small amount of pride in that. And it was that pride, and that acknowledgement that he risked losing power in every aspect of his life should either side in this fight gain the upper hand, that led Dick do what he did next.

“I need air, or whatever passes for air. I’ll return,” Dick assured Slade before turning on his heels and all but running out.

Rose huffed. “Call him back. If we are to be trapped here, digging through his father’s handiwork, so should he, as king.”

Slade shook his head, watching as Dick retreated from the room. “This is the first time he’s made action without permission since he arrived. Let him be, I’m interested to see what he intends to do.”

Dick strode through the throng of souls, ignoring their ghostly touches and pleas. He couldn’t help them. He could salvage the mortals still living, and perhaps swipe a taste of autonomy in the process.

Autonomy, as it so happened, was pomegranate flavored.

Dick arrived in Slade’s pomegranate orchard with intent, and he wasted no time in plucking a heavy fruit from where it hung low. He did not have a knife or sharp edge, but that didn’t matter. He was a god of fruit, and the pomegranate opened for him easily enough. He carefully, meticulously, counted out and plucked six gleaming arils. He placed the six in his palm and discarded the rest as if it could suddenly catch his hand on fire.

For a moment, he simply stared at the fruit in his hand. His fingertips were stained, and that was just in a sense. He had blood on his hands, the garnet juices of the pomegranate belonged there too.

He stood at a precipice, he hovered at the proverbial edge. Should he act, not even Clark could stay the consequences. Dick wasn’t even sure the breadth of his consequences, he knew not how Bruce or Slade would react. But that was the glory of it; their reactions were secondary. And while Dick’s heart ached for the mortals and their woes, they were mortals. They lived brief lives of either glory or mediocrity. Dick risked an eternal life of mediocrity. Of servitude.

Dick raised his palm to his mouth and poured the seeds onto his tongue. The juice was sweet and tart, and Dick chewed slowly, luxuriating in the burst of bittersweet tang that accompanied each bite.  He ached for more, it was his first bite of fruit since his descent, but he didn’t dare.

Across the orchard, there was a flash of red, and then Barry appeared before Dick, a gentle smile on his face that faded as he took in the discarded, gaping fruit and Dick’s reddened finger tips and palm.

“What did you do?” Barry asked, with no small amount of horror.

Dick wiped his mouth. “I think Bruce, Slade, and Clark should talk.”

While Barry and Dick spoke, Lincoln smirked from where he’d been shrouded among the clustered trees. The little god had done it. He’d eaten the fruit and in doing so damned the entire earthly realm. Lincoln slipped away. There were listening ears that yearned for gossip, and he was more than content to provide.

“You ate the fruit of Hades,” Barry insisted. “There’s no parlay to be had. You’ve condemned yourself to remain here, Dick.”

“I ate precisely six seeds,” Dick countered.

“I’m not sure that matters,” Barry huffed. “The precedent is set. Consuming food here, even for gods, binds one to the realm.”

“Slade eats. He chooses to remain, not because he can’t join his siblings, but because he chooses to remain,” Dick asserted. “Slade also claimed me to be his equal. If that is true, or at least if he is unwilling to recant the claim to salvage face and a spouse, then I too can barter the terms of this arrangement. Clark made a decision as my father, I’m making a decision as a god.”

“A god of spring,” Barry reminded him. “Your realm is above the earth.”

“A god of spring, and a god of Hades,” Dick shot back. “I ate the fruit. Clark married me to the king. It is too late for me to return to Bruce’s knee.”

Barry blinked. “Is that what this is about?” he hissed. “Usurping your father’s house?”

Dick shrugged. “Yes. That was an intended consequence.”

“He’s going to kill me,” Barry griped.

“He can’t, you’re deathless, and one of the Twelve,” Dick smiled. “Your throne, how does it feel? And what of the security it brings you?”

Barry straightened, mouth set in a tight line. “I will speak to Clark and Bruce. Would you like me to speak to Slade as well? And what of the circumstances, should I divulge that too?”

“No,” Dick murmured. “I will tell Slade myself. We’re married. And do not tell them what I’ve done here, not before the four of us have spoken. As equals.”

Barry adjusted his helmet. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”

Dick cocked his head. “I’m doing what I must.”

Before leaving, Barry hesitated and then his shoulders seemed to collapse. “This marriage of yours? It is not legitimate nor final until consummated. Clark gave away your hand, but in doing so, he only gave Slade the opportunity to wed you. You still have options, Dick. Weigh them.”

With that, Barry was gone.

Dick picked up a pomegranate half and left.

He did not return to the Judgement Place, nor to the palace. Instead, he found a pleasantly shaded hilltop in Elysium, and Slade found him pressing pomegranate arils into the soil just to delight in the sprigs of growth that resulted.

“You shouldn’t plant pomegranates in the same soil as olive trees,” Slade murmured, leaning against the referenced olive tree. “Olive trees enjoy dry soil, pomegranates are partial to heavy, wet soil.”

“Actually,” Dick murmured lightly, standing and brushing his hands of the dirt, “pomegranates are versatile. They can grow in sand and wet soil. Even heavy clay. They adapt.”

Dick stood on his tip toes and leaned towards Slade, eyes bright.

“Oh?” Slade murmured. When Slade didn’t move away, Dick snaked his arms around Slade’s neck. Slade’s breath stuttered, and he placed a hand on Dick’s waist. Dick giggled, basking in how quickly Slade responded to him. Yet another newfound source of power with which Dick could experiment.

“They fruit best in more accommodating soil. Care during the spring ripens them for the fall,” Dick murmured.

Slade’s eyebrows knitted. “I’m not sure I understand, little bird,” Slade murmured. “What are you suggesting?”

“Let me return to the surface,” Dick said. Slade scowled and pulled Dick against himself possessively, mouth already wrapping around a retort. Dick cut him off to add, “just for six months, out of every year. Allow me to spend six months every year on my father’s estate, and I will return. In that six months, I can assure the mortals prosperity, at least in their harvests and climate, which I have no doubt the Judges will appreciate. Bruce can throw whatever fits he wishes during the rest of the year, but I will be here, with you.”

“Little bird,” Slade began again. Dick shook his head.

“I’ll also marry you. Properly. Not a loose promise between yourself and Clark. I know that our union is not as lawfully bound as you've made it appear.” Dick pressed his lips to Slade’s skin, kissing along the side of Slade's jaw. “But I will rectify that. I will marry you,” he murmured against the shell of Slade’s ear. Slade growled and roughly lifted Dick up. Dick let out a yelp before quickly wrapping his legs around Slade’s waist for purchase. Slade wrapped his fist in Dick’s hair and nipped Dick’s neck. Dick shivered.

“Will you be mine?” Slade hissed.

“Yes,” Dick swallowed. “Will you let me go when the time comes?”

There was a pause and then Slade murmured, “Yes,” before laying Dick out on the grass. They were alone, the usual huddles of divine and glorified souls had scattered upon the quickly traveling news of a parlay between the gods, of Dick’s decision. Golden light dripped through breaks in the olive branches, and the soil was soft and overturned enough from Dick’s earlier ministrations that it cradled his head as he arched his neck and moaned beneath Slade.

Slade was not unkind, but he wasn’t gentle either. Dick discovered he quite liked that. When they lay together afterwards, chitons abandoned and skin slick, Slade buried his face in Dick’s damp hair. He absently kicked away the pomegranate half.

“I’m impressed, kid,” Slade murmured.

“Not a kid,” Dick murmured, eyes half lidded and contentedness loosening his limbs.

“Your father will be furious,” Slade commented, nipping Dick’s shoulder. “I almost think that’s what you’re after.”

“He’s already furious,” Dick sighed, closing his eyes and soaking in the warmth of Elysium’s strange glow. “And prior to that, he had nothing over which to be the least bit troubled. I’ve leveled our playing field, that’s all.”

“Should they agree,” Slade murmured before kissing a line up the rocky crags of Dick’s spine. Dick arched his neck obligingly.

“They will. You’ve already agreed, and they are the only ones who stand to lose.”

“Clever boy,” Slade cooed, tilting Dick’s chin to catch Dick’s gaze.

“Not a boy,” Dick reminded him, before darting forward to press his lips against Slade’s.


End file.
